


The Call.

by beingonstageismagic



Series: He Meant It [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fear, I Love You, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 12:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13317984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingonstageismagic/pseuds/beingonstageismagic
Summary: Takes place just after the phone call in ‘The Final Problem’. How will Molly react and how will Sherlock face what he’s done? Is everything too far gone, broken beyond repair? Or can he gather enough confidence to simply tell Molly what he needs to to ensure he never loses her for real?





	The Call.

Molly stared at her feet, long and hard. She hadn't moved from her spot on the kitchen floor since the phone cut off. She had no idea how long she had been sat there. Her eyes ached and her face was red and blotchy but still the crying didn't seem to cease. She sighed and hugged her knees to her chest, closing her eyes and pressing them into her legs to try and dull the pain.

She'd had to say the most difficult words she'd ever had to face. And to the man she wanted to hear it from the most. But, the feeling deep within her stomach wasn't surrounding that matter. Molly knew Sherlock, she knew that something must have happened for that phone call to have occurred. Something terrible. And here she was, hours later, without a single word. She berated herself for worrying about the man who had just torn her heart out, but she did love him, and that wasn't going to change. She loved him and he was out there somewhere in danger and she couldn't do anything about it.

She jumped when her phone buzzed, with a sigh at the name on the screen, she lifted it to her ear. A relieved heave of breath came through the phone at her answer.

"Hi, John."

His voice was tender, soft and gentle, as if he were afraid too harsh a sound would break her already shattered self, but also laced with a slight sense of panic.

"Molly. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." She was, physically.

"I know it was hard, Molls, but I'm sure he'll explain, and if he doesn't, I promise I'll make him, you deserve an explanation."

"Thanks, John." She smiled with tears brimming, "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. Cold, wet, and ready for the day to be over." He sighed, "I'll see you later, Molls, I've got to get Rosie. Take care."

"You too."

Silence once again filled the flat and she decided that maybe, it was time to move. She hauled herself up off the floor, a movement which encouraged Toby to come and investigate. She ruffled her cat's ears, grabbed a glass of water and headed for the bedroom, Toby at her heels. She peeled her tear stained jumper from her torso and grabbed her comfiest pyjamas from her drawer before heading to the bathroom to complete her usual routine. Sherlock Holmes could mess up a lot of things but her going to sleep ritual was not one of them.

Comfortable and clean, and feeling the tiniest bit refreshed, she climbed into her bed, a million thoughts swimming in her head surrounding a certain consulting detective.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sherlock closed his eyes in the helicopter, tuning out the noise that was creeping into his ears uninvited, and hoping that Molly Hooper was safely sleeping in her bed, dreaming of kittens and Disney films. He wanted nothing more than for her to be okay, for her to be happy. And yet he knew he was the reason she wouldn't be. He knew that the events of today would shake their friendship, if he could even call it that anymore, and test them perhaps past the point of no return. But he also knew he couldn't lose her. He wouldn't be able to survive without her. His mind swirled with what he could say to her to try to make that clear. She was his breath of fresh air. It's like he was drowning and she saved him, she always saved him. And that's all he knew.

They landed and Mycroft and John both clambered out as fast as they could, both reaching for their phones. Sherlock simply sat for a moment, attempting to collect his thoughts. He heard Mycroft's call to Anthea and his request for three cars to be sent. He inwardly let out a sigh of relief, as much as he loved John and his brother, he just wanted to travel alone. John rushed back over to him and placed his hand on his knee from his place on the grass.

"I'm going for Rosie, mate ... We did good." Sherlock scoffed, "We did as much as we could have done. Just do what you have to do, I'll see you later." As he walked away he called out to Sherlock again, whose curls bounced at the quick lifting of his head before his eyes met John's who mouthed, "remember, soldiers."

The two nodded solemnly to each other and John climbed into the first car that appeared. Sherlock climbed down from his seat as the other two pulled up. With a nod to his brother and a hand on his shoulder, he got into the backseat of the car and sat silently as he watched Mycroft be driven away. He had no doubts that Myc would be heading for their parents house. He closed his eyes and pretended for a moment that he believed in some higher power, just so he could pray for his big brother. His eyes remained closed and he got lost within himself once again.

The driver lowered the divide between them, making his eyes snap open,

"Baker Street, Sir?"

He thought for a moment before shaking his head and relaying Molly's address to the kindly older man who simply nodded and started the engine.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Molly was busy tossing and turning when she heard the faint knock on her door. Her heart both plummeted and flew at the thought of Sherlock being on the other side. She slipped her feet into her cozy slippers and made her way though her flat, wrapping her arms around herself, her flannel pyjamas not fairing well with the difference in temperature between her bed and the cold air now attacking her.

As she got closer to the door she could make out his figure on the other side. She had no doubts it was him: the curls shifting in the wind, the upturned coat collar, the perfectly chiselled cheek bones that someone still stood prominent in the dark. She steadied herself and took a deep breath before opening the door. At Sherlock's hitch of breath in his throat, she wondered what a state she must look, probably red faced with dried tear streaks and puffy eyes. The only part of her she was sure was presentable was her hair, as she'd brushed it before trying, and failing, to sleep.

"Sherlock."

"Molly."

Her terse word overlapped his breathless one and they looked at each other for a moment, silence weighing down their very bones. It became too much for Molly to take, so she wrung her hands and resorted to her instincts: manners.

"Come in, you'll catch your death of cold out there."

"Perhaps." His answer was detached and distant, clearly he was elsewhere. "Molly, I have to -"

"Please, Sherlock. Just don't." She closed the door softly, and yet with a force behind her words that made Sherlock flinch.

He paused and looked confused, Molly hated herself for the smile she had to fight as he tilted his head to the side, he really did have to many animalistic tendencies.

"Don't what?"

"Sherlock, I'm not in the mood to play coy. Please, just don't."

"Molly, I don't understand. Don't what? What am I not supposed to do?" Molly was about to scold him again for being so opaque until she finally met his gaze, finally looking at him rather than through him. And she was shocked at how lost he looked, how bewildered, how helpless. Molly imagined for a moment how difficult it must be for him when he cannot comprehend something, and she actually felt bad for him. For a man whose mind worked so incredibly fast, he often got left behind, not reading the signs that you only have to look to see, no observing necessary. She sighed before inhaling deeply and attempting to steel her resolve.

"Please, don't come here and tear my world apart. Don't come here and play with my feelings as if they're some case for you to get a thrill from, as if they're an experiment you concoct to entertain yourself. Please do not come in here with some incredulous explanation about how me saying those words to you helped you solve some case, probably less than an 8 considering the weight of the feelings attached and how you consider sentiment something found on the losing side, whatever the hell that means.  Just please don't come in here and treat me as anything less than a human being."

"Molly." His voice broke, it was so soft, so tender, that she could imagine it leaving his mouth before shattering into million tiny pieces that she could watch float into the air or sway down towards the ground. It was unrecognisable and so not the norm for him that she almost forgot what she was saying. She sighed.

"Please don't come in here and break my heart. I can't take it."

Her voice was barely even a whisper and Sherlock felt a deep aching in his chest. He reached out a hand and placed it beneath her chin, raising her face to meet his, eye to eye.

"That's the last thing I've ever wanted to do."

"What?"

"I've never wanted to hurt you, Molly. Ever."

She scoffed,

"Well, it may have not been your intention, Sherlock, but you have. Many a time. And I can't take another blow with everything that happened today. So, please, just leave."

Sherlock swallowed, trying to deny the tears that were clouding his vision as he watched fresh ones roll down Molly's cheeks. He sighed and gave a slight nod, turning back to the door and placing his hand on the handle, he heard Molly's exhale of breath and almost opened the door, almost.

"I haven't."

"Excuse me?"

"I haven't come here to insult you, Molly. I haven't come here to toy with your emotions, and I detest myself daily for how I've done so in the past." He turned to her and stepped towards her, she stiffened but didn't step back, he smiled slightly, she was always so brave in situations that she felt unprepared for, he lifted a hand to her cheek and wiped a tear away with his thumb, Molly closed her eyes and leant in to his touch, clenching her hand at her side, her internal conflict clear to see. He sighed, "I have not come here to break your heart, Molly Hooper."

Her eyes snapped open, she opened her mouth as if to speak but simply closed it again when nothing came out.

"My intention is to apologise to you, to tell you all about my psychotic sister and how reckless she is with ... _emotional context_." He said the last two words with such disgust that Molly almost flinched away from him, the only thing grounding her being his hand still lying firmly on her cheek and his soft gaze into her warm eyes. "There is much to tell you I am sorry for, Molly. But I simply needed you to know that I am. I am so sorry."

Molly could feel her mind whirring at Sherlock's statement, sister? He'd never mentioned a sister, yet she knew all about the brother that simply was the entire British Government. She pulled herself together and let her sadness be overcome by her natural curiosity. She smoothed out her pyjamas, ran a hand through her long, soft hair and glanced up at him, catching him watching her every move with eyes full of what she thought was adoration. She shook her head slightly and told herself to stop being ridiculous, before heading for the kitchen and once again resorting back to her manners.

"Tea or coffee?"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Molly sat crossed legged on one side of her couch, Sherlock sat at the other. He'd started perched right on the end but as his story developed he'd had to make himself more comfortable to be able to continue. Molly took a deep breath as Sherlock told her about the false gravestones and the cypher hidden within the song, about Redbeard and everything he'd had to do in order to save John, Eurus and the supposed girl on the plane.

"Sherlock, I'm- I'm so sorry. No one should ever have to endure anything like that, especially not from a family member, I-"

"Molly, please. You have no need to apologise. You had no part in this vivisection."

She smiled slightly and nodded at him, before playing with a strand of her hair nervously and asking,

"And the third room? Can you tell me what happened in there?"

Sherlock took a shaky breath and ran a hand through is curls, dishevelling them further. He knew he shouldn't have skipped explaining the room with the coffin, but he simply had to tell her everything else before he faced that again, before he broke completely.

"Yes. Molly, please believe me when I tell you that I'm sorry, and that I never meant for you to get tangled up in these little games. I should have known one day someone would notice you, not everyone could skip over your importance to me like Moriarty did."

She shook her head and scooted closer to him, before reaching up and wiping a stray tear from his face.

"Sherlock, of course I believe you. But all of this is out of your control. If being a part of your life means I have to watch my back at all times, so be it. It's not worth losing a- a friend over." She could have slapped herself for the hesitation, but Sherlock simply smiled and looked down at his lap before steadying himself to tell the story.

"The third room had a similar set up to the others. Drab walls and a large television screen on the wall. The task within this room was the hardest for me. Truly." He breathed, composing himself, "The room was empty barring a coffin in the middle and a lid propped up against the back wall. We had some time to speak to the girl first, before Eurus instructed me to figure out who the coffin was for. I studied it, a lower price range, no fancy trimmings, simply a convenient thing to be buried in. Too inexpensive to be for a child but to small to be for anyone over 5'4" so it was for a woman. Mycroft at this point piped up with the name on the lid, that wasn't a name. It was three words." He looked at her with a plead in his eyes, begging her to not make him say it again, she felt a pang of guilt in her heart and nodded in understanding, he smiled tersely as a thank you before carrying on.

"So, that emotion, tied in with the practicality about death, the height, the gender. It could only have been you, Molly." He looked at her so intensely she thought he might drill a hole in her head. She sighed, not sure how to feel about him being so aware and yet so oblivious to her feelings for him, feelings that had not dissipated in any way. "Eurus told me that she'd planted explosives in your flat-" at Molly's gasp and cautious glance around the room, he stopped to reassure her. "Don't worry, Molly. There were no bombs. Only cameras, and they will be long gone by now, what with my brother's visit whilst you were sleeping," He looked her up and down, "well attempt to be sleeping."

Molly sniffled and made a mental note to inform Mycroft Holmes that another visit to her flat without her knowledge would mean intense anger on her behalf. She snapped back around to Sherlock when she realised what he had said,

"Cameras?" He nodded. She took a shaking breath and wrung her trembling hands as something to do. "You could see me?" He nodded and she pursed her lips, looking down at her feet. He sighed, knowing the only way to get past this point was to finish the story as quickly as possible.

"The only way to disengage the supposed bombs was to get you to say the release code." Molly's head whipped up so fast Sherlock was sure she must have hurt herself. But realisation and understanding flashed over her face and Sherlock thanked the Gods for Molly's intelligence, once again pretending for a moment that one could exist.

"Then, you rang me."

He nodded.

"Well, Eurus did, she gave me two minutes. And told me I couldn't in any way make you aware that your life was in danger, or at least that I thought it was."

Molly inhaled deeply.

"How long was left, Sherlock? How long was left on the timer?"

"Two seconds."

They stared at each other for a moment, taking in the air around them, facing the situation they'd been forced into. Sherlock took a deep breath as he continued.

"When it was over, I- I lost it, Molly." His voice was so vulnerable that she couldn't help the tears that fell from her eyes, "I put the lid on the coffin and threw my fists into it. Throwing and hitting it until nothing was left of it but a few pieces of wood and lining. I couldn't stand the idea that I'd hurt you, Molly. I just- I-"

His stuttering and hurried explanation halted as Molly put her arms around his neck and tentatively held him, until his arms encircled her waist and he pulled her closer. He shook as his sobs raked through his body, his very being challenged by the feelings he felt for this petite pathologist. A petite pathologist who just held him, after all he'd put her through, here she was, when he needed her most. When she was the one who mattered most and the only one who could make him feel better, she was always there, always. He felt his shoulder dampen with her own tears and just held her tighter until they both came back to themselves again.

Molly pulled herself away from him, taking his hands. At his slight flinch and the shock of pain across his face she looked down to see his hands splintered and sore. She took his palm to ensure she wouldn't hurt him and walked him to the kitchen. Placing a cup of water in front of him, which he happily consumed in one to battle the amount of water he'd just lost, and reaching for her first aid kit, she got to work on his hands. After ten minutes of Sherlock trying not to flinch and Molly apologising when he did this (he had to hide the smirk at how easily she could see right through him), Sherlock's hands were bandaged and splinter free, and feeling much better than they did before.

"Thank you."

Molly smiled and they both stood, not realising their proximity as they stood so close to each other that they could feel the other's breath.

"Molly." His voice was low and soft, tender.

"Yes?"

"I- I-"

He couldn't say it. Why couldn't he say it? All he wanted to do was tell this amazing woman in front of him that he loved her _and he couldn't do it_. Molly tilted her head slightly, seeing the feign of annoyance that crossed his face.

"You're beautiful." She blushed and looked away but he took her shoulders and made her look at him. "No, I mean it, Molly. You are. Inside and out. You're my guardian angel, Molly. You saved me. You always save me."

"Sherlock-"

"It's like I was drowning and you saved me. You were like coming up for fresh air."

"Sherlock, I'm hardly that much of an influence on your life-"

"No, you are." He closed the small gap that still separated them, and placed his forehead on hers. "You are my everything, Molly Hooper."

He felt a hiccuped sob come from deep within her and opened his eyes so he could look into hers, the most beautiful eyes in the world to him.

"I am?" She breathed as she cried, trying and failing to find some sort of catch.

"You are."

With that, he moved his hands from her shoulders to her lower back, and pulled her closer. He slowly leaned down and softly placed his lips over hers, waiting for her to reciprocate before he did anything else. She closed her eyes and moved her hands from his sides to around his neck and let herself fall. They kissed with a rhythm only they knew, a soft and tender movement that Sherlock would compose for them sometime soon. The kiss was everything Molly could have expected it to be and more, sure she'd dreamt about passionate kisses with Sherlock Holmes, but she could never have imagined the rush of love and care that ran through her body as his soft lips moved over her own. They pulled back, breathless and blushing, but stayed in each other's arms.

"I love you, Molly Hooper. With all of my heart, all of my brain and everything that I am. I love you and I need you. Please tell me I haven't lost you."

"Oh, Sherlock." The tears were falling for both of them once again, "Of course you haven't lost me. I'm always here for you, always. Never doubt that."

He smiled and leaned in for another soft kiss. When it was over Molly looked at him with nothing but love in her eyes, he was sure it reflected his own.

"And, Sherlock?" He hummed, "I love you too, always."

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, guys!! My first story after my ridiculously long hiatus (which I am so very incredibly sorry for) but man, I am happy to be back writing. Thank you all.  
> Xx


End file.
